Too often
by squarey
Summary: “What the...? That door, that’s the cop’s door,” his emotions flipped like a switch, and he was full of white hot anger...
1. Home?

The woman dashed down the hallway and threw herself onto the door. She was pounding and scratching and kicking, praying _open – open the door, open the door_. No one was opening the door. She could not hear anything inside. But she could hear someone coming up behind her.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he was mumbling his apologies. "Please, I'm sorry."

She continued to kick against the door, her face resting against the cool surface, leaving traces of her blood behind. He had beaten her in the face with his fist; he had thrown her against the wall so hard that she blacked out. When she came to he was no longer in the room, so she had sprinted out of the apartment, down the hall to where she knew the cop lived.

She looked over her shoulder; she hadn't quite come to terms with the fact that the cop was not answering his door. In fact, even with all of the commotion, no one had opened their door. She looked toward the elevator and started to move in that direction. But he caught her, and grabbed her so hard by her hair he pulled her up off her feet. She came crashing backward against him, sending them both tumbling toward the floor.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, why do you… why do you make me…" He was crying. He had cried last time he had almost beat the life out of her. He had wept against her broken body. She had sat numbly with his head in her lap. She remembered her shirt had been slick with her own blood and his tears.

"It's Ok, I'm Ok," she lied, thinking maybe he would stop, maybe things would turn, maybe he would loosen his grip on her hair. She watched him look down the hall, to the bloody prints she had left all over the cop's apartment door.

"What the fuck? That door, that's the cop's door," his emotions flipped like a switch, and he was full of white hot anger - he no longer sounded sorry. He stood, hauling her up onto her feet by her hair and drug her back to the door. "You were pounding on the cop's fucking door," he ground out, "let's see if he's home."

He slammed her head forward, hard, against the door, and she blacked out. He slammed her again, against the door before letting go of her. She fell into a heap on the floor. He pushed her once with his foot, seeing if she would come around. She didn't move. He picked her up, limp like a ragdoll in his arms, carried her back to the apartment, dropped her in the foyer and went to bed.

* * *

**A/N**: It's been a while since I've had the discipline for multiple chapters. Let's see how this goes.


	2. So you were just?

Bobby leaned against the back wall of the elevator in his building. He was exhausted. It was just before dawn and he figured he had time to grab an hour or so of sleep, a shower, maybe a cup of coffee, before making it to work on time. When the elevator doors opened, he pushed himself away from the wall and ambled down the quiet hallway. He actually liked this time of day in the city. The streets were quiet, the day not yet begun.

He fished his keys out of his pocket and was about to unlock his door, when his eyes focused more closely on the details of his surroundings. Unmistakably, there was dried blood smeared across his door, his door jamb, and some droplets just around his feet. He carefully stepped back and reached for his gun. His keys were still in the lock of his door, he didn't think anyone had entered his apartment, but someone had been trying to – maybe an hour ago, maybe two. Slowly, he switched from reaching for his gun to reaching for his phone. He needed to call this in.

CSU was the first to respond, flashing their cameras and taking samples of the blood. Bobby had remained in the hallway, mentally inventorying his neighbors. A young male, late 20s, worked as an assistant district attorney. Private guy, kept long hours. A single mother, with two teenaged children. She worked an early shift at a grocery store, was home just before the kids got home from school. A retired man, late 60s, he owned an auto repair shop that his two grown sons now operated. Bobby thought the retired man was out of town, visiting his brother in Florida. A young woman, mid 20s, Bobby thought that she worked in some kind of restaurant/bar, she kept late hours. The list went on. He wondered if anyone heard anything or seen anything. Surely, if they had, they would have done something, they would have at least called it in.

"Detective." Captain Ross came down the hall, large cup of coffee in hand. Bobby thought the coffee smelled wonderful.

"Captain." Bobby nodded.

"What's going on?" Ross asked, and Bobby gave the run down from the moment he stepped off the elevator, including the info on the neighbors most proximal on the hall.

"So, you were just getting home?" Ross picked up on the obvious point that Bobby was just getting home at a little before 5:00 in the morning.

"Yes," Bobby said not elaborating, not seeing how it was relevant to what was currently happening. Ross let it go for now.

"Let's start knocking on doors, see if anyone heard or saw anything," Ross stated the obvious, and by _let's start knocking doors_, Ross didn't actually mean himself, or Bobby, for at that moment Alex Eames and Mike Logan came off the elevator. Bobby noticed the lack uniformed officers and other detectives. Ross was keeping it in the family for now.

"Listen. We have what we're going to get. You can head on in," one of the CSU officers said to Captain Ross, gesturing in the general direction of Bobby's apartment door.

"Thanks," Ross replied. Bobby stepped across the hall and unlocked his door. He pushed it open and preceded Ross, Eames, and Logan inside. Bobby's apartment was neat, almost sparse, only the necessities in terms of things and furniture.

"Let's figure out what this is, and what it's not, quickly," Ross said, eyeballing Eames and Logan. "And, you… …you can stay right here with me," Ross added, planting Bobby to the spot with his glare.

"Captain, I…" Bobby started to say that he could help with talking to the neighbors.

"You can stay right here," Ross reiterated.

* * *

Bobby rode in the passenger seat of the SUV, Eames was driving. He was thinking about what Logan and Eames had turned up, which was damn close to a whole lot of nothing. The ADA was home, just out of the shower, didn't hear anything, no visible bruises or cuts. No one was home at the single mother's apartment. The retired guy was in Florida, just as Bobby had thought, but one of his sons was at his place. Again, the son didn't hear anything, no visible bruises or cuts. The 20-something female was not at home.

"So, you were just getting home." Eames didn't take her eyes off the road. She used the exact same seemingly casual tone that Ross had used earlier. But as with Ross, it was clear to Bobby that her question was not casual.

"Yes," Bobby said, same as he had said to Ross. He offered no elaboration where he was all night.

"And no one on your floor heard or saw anything, and no one looks like they personally bled all over your door. Someone else? Someone you know?" Eames eyes were still fixed straight ahead. Bobby was watching her, waiting for her to look at him.

"I don't know." Bobby looked at Eames for a few moments more, she did not even flick a glance in his direction. Exasperated, Bobby turned and looked out the window.

"CSU said they collected enough blood to know if it was a male or a female pounding on your door." This time Eames did look in Bobby's direction, but he was looking away.

* * *

Bobby was sitting at his desk, head resting in his hands. He had spent the day chasing down leads on a case not related to the blood he had found on his door that morning. At the end of shift, Eames had left and he had remained. She had mumbled something about him calling her if something came up, but at the same time she had been talking she had been walking off, so he felt that the words were a bit empty. Perhaps, he thought, she had said it the way she had because he so rarely called her when something came up. Point in fact, that morning - he had called Ross, not her.

"Looks like it was a woman pounding on your door." A CSU officer interrupted Bobby's thoughts by dropping an evidence file onto Bobby's desk. "Blood type, everything else we could process in a day, inside. Fingerprints didn't turn up anything." By way of thanks, Bobby nodded. He was now running off no sleep in the past 48 hours.

"You look like hell Goren." Logan stood in front of him. "Well, you looked like hell this morning, now, well, now you look…" Logan searched for word that meant _worse than hell_. He couldn't find one, so he simply continued talking, "so, you were just getting home…"

Bobby was god damn tired of that particular question. So, Bobby stood and pushed his way past Logan, and did not bother with a response.

* * *

"Detective," the male ADA from down the hall was on the elevator. Bobby looked at him, but did not smile. It was the first time, in the dozen or so times they had ridden the elevator together, that the ADA had acknowledged him, let alone called him _detective_. "Any thing on what happened at your place this morning?"

Bobby shook his head _no_ as he studied the guy for a moment. Expensive suit, cheap shoes, nice tie, sports watch. Bobby took in the contradictions in the guy's appearance. Typical of an ADA, Bobby thought. He was paying attention to all the wrong things. Money makes for nice shoes and a nice watch, perhaps even nicer than the suit and tie. The ADA wanted to be something he was not.

"So, you were just getting home?" the ADA asked as the elevator opened on their floor. Bobby cocked his head, and expelled his breath in a sharp frustrated huff. He stared at the ADA, silently forcing him to exit the elevator first. The ADA resentfully complied and headed down the hall toward his apartment. Bobby never said a word.

* * *

The woman stood in the kitchen doing the dishes. She had been doing the dishes for a while, waiting for him to leave. As long as she kept busy, her eyes away from him, she felt the risk was lessened that he would get upset with her. Winter was easier in terms of hiding bruises, winter sweaters and jeans covered up most of your body. But, when he struck her in the face - that was harder to disguise. Today, her lip was swollen from being busted open the night before. So, she had not gone to work.

She could hear the ice clanking in his empty glass. He had finished the tea he was drinking. He set the glass on the counter with a loud thump. She felt a shiver go down her spine. He wasn't leaving.

"Do you know him?" He asked, and at first she had no idea what he was talking about. He would notice the most obscure details, sometimes asking her about the guy at the coffee place, the one behind the checkout counter at the drug store, some random person who accidentally bumped into her while walking down the street. "Do you?"

She softly placed the dishes down in a neat, dry stack on the counter. Two dinner plates, two salad bowls, two forks, two knives, two spoons, and one glass. She had only washed her glass, for he had still been drinking from his.

"You forgot this one." He picked the glass up off the counter and went to stand behind her at the sink. He placed the glass into the remnants of sudsy water. "Do you know him?" he repeated his question, wrapping his arms around her, taking her hands within his. "The cop, do you know him?"

Almost imperceptibly she moved her head no. Her insides were trembling, but her hands remained steady within his. It would only frustrate him to see her fear. He took the sponge in his hand, placing it in hers, running her hands across the glass, keeping her hands in motion with his.

"See, I think you do," he said. His voice was soft, the opposite of his touch. His hands were tightening on hers. "I think you do know him. I think that's why you ran to his door. You must know him," he continued, and the pressure increased on her hands. The glass within her palms shattered into shards in the sink. She could see her blood sliding across the broken glass into the sudsy water. "If you know him, I think I should know about that. Maybe I'll ask him." He released her hands. He never changed his tone of his voice. "Clean that up." He tossed her a towel. She knew that he was asking her to clean up the broken glass, he didn't acknowledge the cut on her hand.

* * *

TBC...


	3. Change it back

Bobby dozed in bed for an hour or two, drifting in and out of sleep. He kept jumping awake from a dream of someone pounding on his door. He would lie still, looking at the clock, listening for sound. He would hear nothing. Once or twice he got out of bed and walked to the door, opening it to look up and down the deserted hallway.

1:23am. He sighed and rolled over, throwing his arm over his forehead. He thought about the strange interaction with the ADA. Perhaps he knew something, perhaps he saw something. The ADA's remark about Bobby just arriving home was irritating.

Bobby gave up on sleep and got out bed. He pulled on his jeans and t-shirt and returned to his front door. He stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He closed his eyes and thought about the pattern of dried blood, trying to imagine what could have let up to someone pounding on his door looking for him.

He opened his eyes and studied the now clean surface – devoid of blood, wiped clean from the CSUs dusting for fingerprints. He wasn't certain how long he stood there staring. He cocked his head sideways wondering who cleaned his door. Certainly the CSUs hadn't cleaned up. He knew that the building hadn't cleaned up. He looked down the hall, thinking that who ever had been pounding on his door had been the one to clean up. He felt doubtful that someone who didn't have to pass by the door would have taken the trouble. So, that would leave someone on his hall, someone that had to pass his apartment door to get to their apartment.

Bobby carefully opened his door and went into his kitchen. He rooted around in his cabinets for a moment, looking for his ancient fingerprint kit. He thought that who ever had taken the time to clean up his door had possibly left fresh fingerprints in the process.

He adeptly dusted the door, door jamb, and surrounding area. He did not dust the knob or the surfaces he had touched. He retrieved a nice looking thumb print and two other finger prints. He grabbed his coat and keys and set off for 1PP to submit the prints to the lab.

* * *

Bobby walked off the elevator headed to his apartment. It felt like déjà vous, for this morning felt exactly like yesterday morning. His thoughts were focused on getting an hour or so of sleep, taking a shower, and making it to work on time. After dropping off the fingerprints at 1PP, he knew it was useless to head back home. He knew he would simply thrash around awake in bed. So, instead he went out for a while.

"Are you just getting home?" A woman's voice startled him. He turned to find her standing next to him, looking up at him, her eyes blue like the clear dawn sky. By way of answer, he nodded affirmatively. Her i-pod and running clothes suggested she was just headed out. Automatically, he looked at her, searching for visible bruises or cuts. He couldn't see anything, but most of her body was covered. It was cold outside, so she was wearing long running pants, a sweatshirt, and she even had on thin gloves.

"Going for a run?" Bobby asked, not answering her question. He followed her gaze to his apartment door. She was the single female who he guessed worked some kind of late shift.

"Yeah. I get off work, you know, and can't get to sleep right away. I just gave it up and decided maybe a run would clear my head." She offered, fidgeting with her i-pod.

"Last night. Did you hear anything, see anything?" he asked. She shook her head no, her eyes not meeting his, she studied the door. Bobby followed her gaze to the finger print dust. Was she surprised to see it there? Was she the one that cleaned the door the night before?

"I should go," she said, turning to head toward the elevator. Bobby found it odd that she didn't ask if he knew anything, that she didn't ask about his theories about who could've been pounding on his door. He thought that maybe she knew more than she was saying. Or maybe, lack of sleep was making him suspicious of everyone. He pushed into his apartment, aching for ever elusive sleep.

* * *

The woman sat in the bathroom wrapped in her robe, her knees pulled up tightly against her chest, her forehead resting on her knees. She had lingered in the shower until her skin was all wrinkled and pruned. She could hear him moving about the apartment. He was in a good mood this evening, whistling as he moved through the rooms. She was in no hurry to leave the steamy space, it was quiet and peaceful.

"Dinner will be ready soon." She jumped as he knocked lightly. Slowly, she stood and opened the door. He smiled, kissing her gently. "You look beautiful." He tucked a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. "I hope you're hungry." He left her standing there, the warmth of his soft touch still on her cheekbone. She wondered when things had changed. She wondered if there was a pivotal moment that she missed, when he stopped being kind and gentle all the time. She wondered if it was something she should've seen. She thought that maybe, just maybe, if she could figure out that moment, then she could change it back, and things would be the way they used to be.

* * *

TBC...


	4. Silence

"You got something." A CSU officer slapped some papers down on Bobby's desk, "the prints, on your door, we matched them."

"You what?" Bobby closed his eyes, shaking his head, as if trying to shake some thoughts loose.

"The prints you submitted, they hit to him." The CSU officer tapped his finger on the papers.

"Oh, right, thanks." Bobby rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He was tired, and he was off shift, so he had been thinking about going home and trying to grab some sleep. He was so preoccupied he didn't even notice the CSU officer had left and Alex Eames had taken his place.

"What do you have there?" she asked.

"What?" Bobby jumped, and took his hands away from his eyes.

"You got something?" She tried to see the papers the CSU had just left behind, but Bobby was shoving them into his portfolio.

"Nothing new," he replied, not wanting to include Alex in the fact that he personally took prints from his door and rushed them through the lab without exactly following the proper channels.

"Well, I'm done for the day," Alex looked at Bobby, her concern almost palpable.

"Right. See you tomorrow." Bobby did not look at her.

"Do you, uh, do you need anything? Help with anything?" she asked, she knew something was up, she knew he was holding back. For a long moment, her question was met with silence.

"No." He shook his head, still not looking at her. She stood quietly, waiting for him to say something different. Then with a shiver of frustration, she strode off.

* * *

After Alex had stalked off, Bobby retrieved the papers from his portfolio. He recognized the name immediately. CSU had matched the prints to Michael Burke, 15, brother of Sean Burke, 13, sons of Nora Burke, who lived a few doors down on his hallway. Apparently, the boy's prints were in an FBI data base. The mother probably had both her boys finger printed as part of a campaign heightening awareness of missing and exploited children.

Bobby remained at his desk, trying to imagine how a teenage boy came to leave fingerprints on his apartment door. Bobby was certain it was from cleaning up the blood. He needed to talk to the kid. He picked up his phone and dialed the Burke's home phone number, listed on the contact information CSU had provided.

"Yeah," A young male voice answered.

"Is Michael there?" Bobby asked, not introducing himself.

"No man, he's at the game."

"Great, thanks," Bobby replied. He hung up the phone, drumming the fingers of his left hand on his desk.

"Detective," Ross loomed over him. "Calling it a night soon, I hope," Ross continued pointedly. Bobby stood, collecting up his things.

"Yeah, Captain. See you tomorrow," Bobby automatically replied.

"Or not," Ross shook his head, looking exasperated. "Tomorrow's your day off, I'm hoping _not_ to see you tomorrow," Ross supplied.

"Right," Bobby pulled on his coat. "Night." Bobby stood in the elevator thinking about what game Michael Burke might be attending. It was basketball season, he knew that Michael played basketball, so Bobby gambled, thinking maybe there was a game at the High School tonight.

Bobby had seen the boy often enough to be able to pick him out of a crowd. He stood out front of the school for a moment, thinking about how to proceed. He had been right; the school was still open for a basketball game. The game had ended about 20 minutes ago, and Bobby could see people starting to trickle out from a side door that probably led directly into the gym. So, Bobby walked toward the door, hoping to catch Michael inside.

"Michael." Bobby called his name, he was easy to spot, a tall athletic boy, though he was not on the varsity team that had played tonight. Bobby thought maybe next year, when Michael was a junior, he would make the varsity team. Michael looked in his direction, and Bobby could see recognition in the boy's eyes. He watched Michael move in his direction. The boy's stride was long and loping, and beyond the initial glance, he did not meet Bobby in the eye. "You know what I'm here for?" Bobby asked. He watched Michael shrug. Bobby looked around, making sure they were out of ear shot of passers by. "I need to know what happened the other night."

"What d'ya mean?" The boy tried to play it off. Bobby was looking at him, looking for any cuts or bruises, thinking that maybe the boy had been the one pounding on his door. But why?

"Two nights ago…" Bobby kept his tone even, he kind of leaned sideways trying to catch the boy's eyes. "My door…"

"I dunno." Michael straightened up, brows creased, he looked away.

"You don't know." Bobby again tried to catch the boy's eyes. Bobby could tell the boy was agitated, anxious.

"I wasn't home." Michael turned at briefly met Bobby's gaze. "We were at my cousin's. We weren't home." He shrugged.

"You weren't home." Bobby was struggling to put it together.

"I said we weren't fucking home," Michael ground out the words. "We weren't home," Michael repeated, his voice breaking.

Bobby breathed in deeply. Then it clicked in Bobby's brain, and he understood. He figured out who was home the other night. Michael's mother, Nora Burke, was home. Nora Burke had come to his door. She was the one who needed help. She was the one who was bleeding. Bobby could see it on the boy, in his posture; Bobby could hear it in the boy's words. Someone had beaten up the mother. Too often, that kind of thing happened right next door. That was why Michael was so upset. He hadn't been there to help his mother.

"You and your brother Sean, you were both at your cousin's," Bobby repeated.

"I said that, right?" Michael looked away.

"Yeah, yeah you did." Bobby took in a deep breath, expelled it slowly, thinking about how to proceed. "So, your mom, she came to my door, she was hurt, she needed help, something happened…" Bobby paused, watching Michael's shoulders tense, his fists clench. Whoever was doing this, was someone Michael knew, was someone the family knew. The father? "You came home the next day, you saw your mother, you saw the blood, you figured out the police had been by. I mean afterall, it was my door. I'm police." Bobby was thinking out loud. "Where is your mother?" Bobby asked.

"Home." Michael replied.

"Alone?"

"Sean's home," Michael mumbled, "I should get home."

"Let me take you," Bobby said. Michael looked around the gym, as if looking for another way to get home. The crowd of kids had thinned considerably. Finally, Michael shrugged, acquiescing to Bobby giving him a ride. Bobby figured he would take a look at the mother, make sure he was putting things together in the right way.

They rode to the building in silence. They walked through the lobby in silence. They rode up the elevator in the same silence. When the elevator doors opened on their floor, the silence was sharply broken as gun shots rang out.

* * *

TBC...


	5. Too often

Without thinking, Bobby pushed Michael back onto the elevator, the doors closing around the boy. Bobby drew his weapon, proceeding carefully down the hall.

"Oh my god, oh my god." It was a woman's voice, she was hysterical, screaming. "Oh my god, Sean. Oh my god."

"NYPD," Bobby called, "Drop the gun. Drop the gun," Bobby commanded. It was Sean Burke, gun drawn on his father. There was a bullet hole through Bobby's door. "Sean, drop the gun." Bobby urged.

Sean looked in Bobby's direction, looking away from his father just long enough for his father to react. The father reached forward, grabbed Sean by the wrist, rapidly rotated his son's arm around, the pain forced the boy to drop the gun.

Bobby closed the distance, and surprised everyone by not going for the son. Bobby grabbed the father, by the back of his shirt, and slammed the father head first into his apartment door. Once, twice, he slammed the father's face into his door, much like the father had slammed Nora Burke into the door two nights before. Once the father stopped struggling, Bobby cuffed him and let him slide, slightly dazed onto the floor.

"Oh my god, Sean." Nora Burke was holding her son in her arms. The elevator doors had reopened, and Michael was headed down the hall. Nora Burke embraced both sons. "I'm so sorry," she was saying, she was crying, her arms wrapped around her two boys. Bobby could see the bruises on her wrists, on her collar bone, blood, bright and new, on a cut above her eye.

"I called the police, I mean, you are the police, but I called the police." The ADA was in the hall, cell phone in hand. Bobby felt like grabbing him and slamming him against the wall. He didn't like the ADA, and he was still full of anger over what was happening.

"Get back into your apartment," Bobby growled out the words. The ADA's eyes widened, and he retreated back down the hall.

Uniforms were the first to respond. Ross was the next on scene. It boggled Bobby's mind how Ross always seemed to magically appear. It was as if Ross was always waiting for something to happen that involved Bobby, waiting to run interference.

Bobby had let Nora take her boys back into their apartment, while two uniforms took the father down town. It was the father's gun, he had hit the mother with the handle, breaking her skin open just above her eye. Sean had grabbed the gun away from the father, and things had tumbled out into the hallway. Bobby knew he would have to bring Sean and Nora Burke in as well, but he was waiting a moment for that. Nora Burke needed some time with her sons.

"Tell me detective, does trouble just follow you around?" Ross looked up at Bobby. The question was rhetorical, so Bobby did not even pretend to form an answer, he simply rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyebrows – another night lay ahead with absolutely no chance of sleep.

"Just, um, can we um, just give them a few more minutes?" Bobby mumbled, referring to Nora, Michael, and Sean.

"Yes, detective, we can give them a few more minutes," Ross replied, thinking that Bobby looked like hell. Ross was in no hurry to bring Nora Burke and Sean down town. He had two teenagers of his own, and he felt sick to his stomach as he visualized the domestic abuse case in his mind.

* * *

"So you solved the mystery of the blood on your door," Logan was hovering near Bobby's desk. It was after midnight. Bobby could not fathom how Logan always managed to be lingering around his desk. Didn't the guy have some place better to be?

"No mystery," Bobby leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. "Simple really," Bobby mumbled.

"Oh it's a fucking mystery to me," Logan's tone changed from teasing to very serious, "it's a god damn mystery how a man can beat on a woman like that…" Logan shook his head and moved to his desk to grab his coat. "Need a ride?" Logan asked, revealing that he knew Bobby had ridden to Major Case with Ross.

"No, no thanks," Bobby replied, he wasn't ready to head home, as tired as he was, he wasn't in the mood for going home just to find out that again he couldn't sleep. So, he stayed and made a few phone calls. The father was being charged with assault with a deadly weapon, and Bobby was hoping to find a way to get the charges jacked up to attempted murder. A victim's advocate was with Nora Burke, the same advocate had arranged for an attorney for Sean. Bobby felt fairly certain that no charges would be filed against Sean for the _accidental_ discharge of the firearm. When he felt like things were going in the right direction, he grabbed his coat and headed out.

* * *

The next morning, dressed in the same clothes he had on the night before, he stopped by Major Case. Before heading home, he wanted to make sure that the father was tucked away in a jail cell somewhere, and Nora and the boys were home safe. He was surprised to find Alex Eames in the Captain's office. When she saw him, she wrapped up her conversation with Ross and headed out into the squad. She immediately could see that Bobby hadn't been home the night before.

"I asked you, you know, if I could help, if you had anything. I would've…" Eames voice was soft, almost resigned, she shook her head slightly. "I would've, I don't know… …I could've…" she didn't finish her thoughts. Bobby stood, not knowing what to say, so he simply looked at her.

"Well, the father, Kenneth Burke, is not going to be slamming Nora Burke against my apartment door ever again." Bobby rubbed his hands across his beard. "I'm headed home," he was so tired he actually felt numb. And he realized he was after that feeling, that feeling of being numb. Eames trailed after him as he headed toward to stairwell.

"So how often are you getting home just in time to turn around and come into work?" Eames finally asked the question that had been eating her up inside.

"Too often," Bobby replied, he did not turn to look at her. He simply headed to the stairwell and let the doors close between them.

* * *

**A/N**: I'll leave what Bobby's doing with his nights for another time… or maybe I'll leave it for someone else's story... he just looks so damn tired, a little too often (yeah, I suck :)


End file.
